Michello chuckled as he looked down at Iris, then casually removed his priestly robes.
Beneath them he wore a tight black tank top, exposing the numerous scars running along his arms.
Portions of his Sigil were visible as well, black markings shaped like spider legs stretching from his back and curling around his upper arms.
“You must be freezing, my dear Oracle.” Michello draped the robes around Iris’s shoulders before turning toward the Remnant behind her.
“Wear these while I deal with the foolish shadow that dared frighten a blessing of the Lady.”
Iris instinctively pulled the robes tighter around herself.
They were warm.
Far warmer than ordinary clothing should’ve been.
“Of course even his clothes are an Artifact,” Iris muttered.
What bothered her more was the expression on Michello’s face.
There was genuine warmth in his eye as he looked at her, the kind of softness Iris had rarely seen from him in her previous life.
She couldn’t understand it.
How could someone capable of looking at another person with so much care kill without the slightest hesitation?
How could that warmth exist beside everything she knew Michello was capable of?
“You’ve frightened my dear Oracle,” Michello said with a chuckle as he turned toward the false Wallace.
“She’s only a child, yet you’ve forced her to witness such horrible things.”
The Remnant barely had time to react.
Michello crossed the distance between them and grabbed it by the mouth, lifting the creature completely off the ground with one hand.
Its legs kicked wildly as it clawed at his arm, but Michello barely seemed to notice.
Then he squeezed.
A sickening crack echoed across the bridge.
The Remnant’s jaw collapsed beneath his fingers, black blood spraying across Michello’s hand as the creature immediately went limp.
Iris took a step backward.
A tear rolled down her cheek before she could stop it.
She knew it wasn’t Wallace.
She knew that thing had only stolen his face.
But for a moment, all she could remember was the real Wallace lying on the ground twenty years ago.
Poison had already destroyed his body by then, leaving him vomiting and barely able to stand, yet when the gun was raised toward Iris, Wallace had still moved in front of her.
The bullet meant for Iris had killed him instead.
Iris quickly wiped the tear away.
Michello looked back at her and paused.
“I’m sorry, my Oracle.” His voice became strangely gentle again.
“Next time, use my robes to cover your eyes. They’re specially made to keep you warm, and no matter how much blood gets on them, they’ll never stain.”
He smiled and held out his hand.
Iris stared at it.
‘I hate this man.’
She looked at Michello’s blood-covered fingers, then at the warm robes wrapped around her body.
‘I really, really hate this man.’
But the darkness surrounding them stretched farther than Iris could see, and right now Michello was one of the strongest people she could possibly have beside her.
She reluctantly placed her hand in his.
‘I’ll rely on him for now.’
Michello’s hand was warm.
Iris’s eye twitched.
‘I don’t like that either.’
“As your Oracle, I have an order, so you better follow it,” Iris said, forcing herself back into the prideful act she’d been using around him.
“Protect your mother, I imagine?” Michello replied before she could even say it.
“Don’t worry. The woman who gave birth to a blessing such as yourself deserves protection as well.”
His smile remained warm and completely sincere, which somehow made Iris even more uncomfortable.
“I don’t remember much of my childhood,” Michello continued as they walked through the darkness, Iris’s hand still held firmly in his.
“But I imagine growing up without my parents must have been rather lonely. I wouldn’t want my dear Oracle to experience that same pain.” He looked ahead as he spoke, his tone almost casual.
“Madame Silver told me a few stories about my mother. She sounded like a wonderful woman. Apparently, she died the same day I was born.”
Iris hesitated.
“I see…” For once, she couldn’t think of anything sarcastic to say.
The more Michello talked, the harder he became to understand.
“Apparently, she was a baker,” he continued cheerfully.
“She owned a small bakery in Japan. The Church kept it running after her death, and they’ve maintained it so faithfully that Madame Silver claims the regular customers can hardly tell the difference between my mother’s recipes and the ones they serve today.” Michello smiled down at Iris.
“Once this mess is over, perhaps I’ll take you to Japan. You can see it yourself.”
Iris stared at him for a moment.
“Michello.”
“Yes, my Oracle?”
“Why do you do any of this?” Iris asked.
“All the pointless violence, all the people you’ve killed, all the blood you’ve put on your hands.” Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“If your mother owned a bakery, why not just go run the damn bakery?”
Michello didn’t answer immediately.
“The Shrine Maiden told me I was a blessing,” he eventually said.
“She said the Goddess gave me talents that should be used in service of the Church. My mother was a devoted believer as well, and when I was born, the Church held a celebration.” His tone remained disturbingly casual.
“According to Madame Silver, I have no father. My mother was a virgin. By every natural law, I shouldn’t exist at all.”
Iris slowly looked toward him.
Michello smiled.
“And yet I do.”
His pink eye seemed almost brighter against the darkness.
“So what else could I be but a gift from the Goddess? An impossible child born through an impossible miracle.” Michello looked ahead again as they continued through the endless crimson maze.
“If that’s why I was brought into this world, then I’ll use every talent I’ve been given in her service.”
Iris’s grip on his hand tightened slightly.
“Even if that means killing people?”
“Of course.”
There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation.
“No matter how much blood I have to spill, no matter how badly I have to stain my hands, it doesn’t matter.” Michello’s voice remained gentle.
“If it’s for the Goddess, then they’re being stained for a reason.”
Iris stared at him in silence.
That was the problem.
Michello wasn’t pretending to be righteous.
He genuinely believed every word.
“To be human is to sin,” Michello continued pleasantly.
“To pretend we’re perfect, or even strive to become perfect, is arrogance. Perfection is something only the gods have the right to possess.” He smiled faintly.
“Violence is simply one expression of my humanity. Sin exists because humans have desires, and acting upon those desires is part of what makes us who we are. Our imperfections aren’t something to be ashamed of. They’re some of the most human parts of us.”
Before Iris could respond, Michello began humming softly to himself.
After a few moments, the humming turned into words, a poem Madame Silver had apparently taught him long ago.
“I am Envious because I have Eyes. I am Gluttonous because I have a Stomach. I am Greedy because I have Hands. I am Prideful because I have a Brain. I am Slothful because I have a Spine. I am Wrathful because I have Blood.”
Iris’s eye twitched slightly.
‘You’re missing the seventh one.’
And considering who she was talking to, it felt especially appropriate.
The sin he embodied the most.
“What about Lust?” Iris asked.
“What’s the final line?”
Michello’s smile softened.
“The final line Madame Silver always told me was…”
He paused for a moment before reciting it with the same gentle tone.
“I am Lustful because you have a Heart, and I wish to claim it.”
Iris looked toward him.
“Love is such a beautiful thing,” Michello continued.
“Humans are born without hearts of their own, so throughout our lives, we reach out and try to claim the hearts of others. Friends, family, lovers. We gather pieces of other people until eventually we become whole.” He smiled down at Iris.
“Perhaps that’s what love really is. Giving someone else a piece of yourself and hoping they’ll give you one in return.”
Iris remained quiet for a few seconds.
Then her brow furrowed.
“Wait.”
Michello looked toward her.
“If humans are born without hearts, then the people whose hearts you’re trying to claim wouldn’t have hearts either.” Iris stared at him. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
“Doesn’t that make the entire thing pointless?”
Michello blinked.
For once, he seemed genuinely caught off guard.
Then he shrugged.
“Perhaps.”
Iris’s eye twitched.
“Perhaps?”
“Or perhaps it’s simply wordplay and you’re thinking far too deeply about a poem.”
Iris stared at him in disbelief.
“You just spent five minutes explaining the philosophy behind it.”
“And it was a very enjoyable five minutes.”
Iris sighed.
“I hate talking to you.”
Michello chuckled.
“So you’ve mentioned.”
“But I’m glad I managed to distract you, my dear Oracle.” Michello smiled as they continued walking.
“Ever since you found me, you’ve been thinking about nothing but your mother. Worrying about where she is, whether she’s hurt, whether she’s even still alive.” He chuckled softly.
“But for the past few minutes, all you’ve been thinking about is how irritating I am.”
Iris stared at him.
Michello’s smile widened.
“Hate me with all your heart if you’d like. Let that hatred be another expression of your humanity. This place will try to drown you in fear, so let your hatred burn through it instead.”
For once, Iris didn’t have an answer.
Michello was horrible.
He was a murderer, a cultist, and quite possibly one of the most dangerous human beings Iris had ever known.
But somehow, in his own twisted way, he’d realized she was afraid.
And he’d helped.
Iris hated that almost as much as she hated him.
Black liquid suddenly began pouring from beneath Michello’s eyepatch.
Iris instinctively stepped back as the darkness twisted through the air.
Michello reached one hand into it and slowly pulled out a long spear.
Its shaft appeared almost flesh-like, while a massive jagged, chainsaw-like blade rested at the end.
“This is a Grade 1 Artifact called From Hell,” Michello explained casually as he spun the weapon once in his hand.
“Supposedly, it was once wielded by Jack the Ripper. Whether that’s actually true or simply part of the story surrounding it, I’ve never cared enough to check.”
Iris narrowed her eyes.
“Why are you pulling that out now?”
“Because we’re surrounded.”
Her eyes widened.
Michello rested the spear against his shoulder.
“They’ve been following us for a while now. Hiding just beyond the light, waiting for either of us to lower our guard.”
Iris immediately looked around.
Only then did she notice them.
Shapes moved throughout the darkness surrounding the crimson bridge.
Some crawled along distant walls, others stood completely still between the structures, and countless pairs of eyes watched from places Iris hadn’t even thought to check.
There were far more than she could count at a glance.
Her teeth pressed against her thumbnail.
‘Damn it.’
She’d been so focused on Michello that she hadn’t noticed them gathering.
Twenty years of experience didn’t mean much when the instincts and senses she’d spent those years sharpening belonged to a body she no longer possessed.
‘Looks like I’ll need to train my perception all over again in this life.’
Michello stepped in front of her, placing himself between Iris and the nearest movement in the darkness.
The chainsaw-like blade of From Hell roared to life.
“Don’t worry, my dear Oracle.”
Michello smiled as the creatures began crawling toward them.
“I’ll protect you.”